of a mile to the east of it, the trio of scouts were apparently waiting for something to turn up, when they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs and inter- cepted the rider. Forcing him to dismount, they drew him into the bushes and under a tree somewhat to the east of the present road, searched him, finally discov- ering the criminating papers in his boot. Whether Paulding really exclaimed, " My God, he is a spy," or whether the question of ransom was ever seriously discussed, are matters that will probably never be settled. What is important is that the men Digitized by Microsoft® In the Land of Irving 237 who captured Andre did not conclude any bargain for ransom, but actually held their prisoner till they had turned him over to some one who had official author- ity to hold him, and that they were honoured by the Commander-in-chief of the army and by Congress as the saviours of the State. The dispatching of Andr6 to Washington, under guard, and the sad termination of the life of the active and popular young Englishman, belong to one of the most familiar narratives of American history. Among the legends that are famous wherever the English tongue is familiar, or its literature known, that of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow has been read. To attempt to retell a story so intimately asso- ciated with the fame of Washington Irving, savours of effrontery, and we can only regret that the length of the legend, as accepted, forbids its insertion here. Among the famous men whose homes were, for a longer or shorter period, at Tarrytown, Commodore Matthew Galbraith Perry, to whom the world owes the opening of Japan to Western influences, must not be forgotten. His house was to the north of the estate of Mr. William Aspinwall, now owned by Mr. William Rockefeller. Not far away was the cottage in which Captain Alexander Slidell Mackenzie resided, after the distressing episode on the brig 5om^?'5, when he caused the son of the Secretary of the Navy to be hanged from the yard-arm for mutiny. General James Watson Webb was also for years a resident of Tarrytown, his Digitized by Microsoft® 238 The Hudson River estate being afterwards purchased by General John C. Fremont — the Pathfinder. LOOKOUT AT OLD QUARRY — TARRYTOWN {From a dratving by the author') Those whose memories include the stirring days of the Civil War will recollect how, in 1863, at the time Digitized by Microsoft® In the Land of Irving 239 of the dreadful "draft riots" in New York, a demon- stration of sympathy with the rioters was suggested by some of the inhabitants of what was then known as Beekmantown, and how a gunboat, anchored within range, produced a change of heart in the most turbu- lent. At that time a company of roughs from farther down the river were marching upon Tarry town, with the intention of doing mischief to the coloured por- tion of the population. The latter, badly frightened, swarmed over the hills, taking refuge in the woods back of the village. But the rioters never reached the town. A brave minister of the place, the Rev. Abel T. Stewart, accompanied by one or two companions, went unarmed to meet that mob of several hundred bloodthirsty ruffians, and succeeded by his fearless resolution and persuasive eloquence in turning them from their purpose. One cannot visit Sleepy Hollow or explore the banks of the Pocantico as it seeks the Hudson without being conscious that Washington Irving stretched his scep- tre over these hills and valleys. From the gables of Sunnyside to the belfry of the Old Dutch Church, from "Tommy Dean's" store to Carl's mill, his domain ex- tended, and is still his inalienable territory, let who will pay the taxes! The associations which led him back to Tarrytown after years of wandering were formed in boyhood. The Pauldings, connected with his family by mar- riage, lived near a pleasant bay, just south of the Digitized by Microsoft® 240 The Hudson River present station, and it was while visiting them that he made an early acquaintance with the characters and scenes that engaged his pen in later years. James Kirke Paulding, his senior by several years, was his guide and friend, if not philosopher; and it is not improbable that the people of the neighbourhood, who have conjured for half a century by Geoffrey Crayon's name, must thank that engaging youngster for their titular saint. It is hard for us to realise, looking at the cultivated "grounds," the "improved" residences^ and innumer- able smooth lawns, what those two boys found as they rambled with guns or rods over the hills, or pushed their boat into the bays along the river shore. The